


Sacrifice Yourself

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the inception_kink prompt: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/9742.html?thread=19799054#t19799054">You can only kill yourself so many times before you believe that you are truly dead.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice Yourself

The field around the house was empty, and there was never any wind. The water in the pool was warm and serene, always still. The grass never needed mowing and the leaves never turned colors or fell. The house was fine as it was, even if the cupboards were bare and there was no electricity to run any of the appliances. He didn't need to eat here, didn't need to drink. He did anyway, because Ariadne had planned for a fully stocked wet bar in the basement, and there were always top shelf bottles down there.

There was a knocking on the door, but there was no use checking to see who was on the other side. No one was ever there.

He missed Ariadne, and wondered why she wasn't here. She had always said she would follow him wherever he went, that she would find a way. Perhaps he was dead, then, and not simply alone in a layer of dream or caught up in limbo.

He wasn't terribly disturbed by this prospect, though he possibly should have been. He was dead. That made sense; he only felt alive next to Ariadne, and Ariadne wasn't here.

There was a knocking on the door, and Arthur ignored it. No one was ever standing on the other side.

Of all the things he regretted, it was leaving her alone on the rooftop. Perhaps they could have jumped together. That was supposed to be romantic, wasn't it? Two lovers, on the run with each other, falling to their deaths together, hands still linked. It sounded like a bad chick flick, but it might have made Ariadne happy.

It hurt to think of her, to see her all around the house she had designed but wasn't here to see. In time, the pain would fade. Everything else had.

***

There was a knocking on the door, but there was no one there when Arthur checked. It had been like that for months now, living in the house that Ariadne had designed. It was their dream house, the house she had sketched for them in between jobs, hoping to surprise him with the finished product. It was just like her, an elegant house with a whimsical air when it came down to the details.

She planned everything, right down to the tile pattern in the floors and the paneling in the office that was soundproofed and bulletproofed, _just in case._ Their bedroom had large glass windows facing the pool and sculpted gardens and was large enough for massive furniture that could swallow them whole. The bed was king sized, the tub was a whirlpool one they could both lie in, the shower stall was spacious and luxurious. There were guest rooms set up for visitors, though Arthur was sure that Ariadne planned them to eventually be converted into children's bedrooms. The kitchen was a gourmet masterpiece for Arthur to cook in, with stainless steel appliances, marble counter tops and a large center island to work on. The breakfast nook had a dinette set beneath the chandelier that matched the kitchen decor. The formal dining area had the hutch for the formal china, silverware and crystal that they would likely get once they announced a wedding date.

It was spacious, just the thing she used to jokingly refer to as an "old money" look. It was just the thing she would have loved.

There was a knocking on the door, but there was no one there. It didn't matter if he checked or not anymore; no one was ever on the other side.

He missed Ariadne. He lived in this house she had built, but she wasn't even here. He had thought perhaps projections were present in every level of consciousness, but apparently this level was devoid of all projections. Death was emptiness, so perhaps this was something different. Limbo, perhaps? It was generally thought of as a comatose state, moving through the very edges of reason at such a slow pace that he might as well be dead.

He missed trailing his fingers down her arm, looping her hair around his fingers, hearing her sing off key. He missed all of her discarded sketches winding up crumpled underfoot, the way her tongue was poised at the corner of her lips as she built her models, the way her hair could be piled up on top of her head and pinned in place with her pencils. She always lost pencils that way, the things sliding out of the messy bun to clatter onto the floor and roll beneath desks or bookcases. He missed the way she smiled, the way her eyes lit up and danced when she saw him. He missed the feel of her arms wrapped around him, the solid presence of her body pressed against his or the silken feel of her lips against his. He missed the way she moved around the apartment they had shared, the way she ran and danced even if she really didn't know how. He loved the way she presented bakery goods to him as a treasured gift, the way she crawled over his prone body at the end of the night to kiss the exhaustion away.

He missed her so much, and she wasn't here. It hurt more than the bullet had.

***

He remembered bringing the gun up to his head, the tears in Ariadne's eyes. He remembered everything that had happened, the job gone wrong and the footsteps pounding on the concrete behind them. The others had gotten out, and it was just the two of them left. "Don't do this," she had pleaded. "We can come up with a lie..."

"Tell them I kidnapped you. Use the Sarah Marsten cover ID," Arthur had said calmly. The door to the roof burst open, and armed guards carrying pistols burst through. He had only so much ammunition, and he would be easily overwhelmed. He stared at the head of security, a smile dancing across his lips. "I'll see you in hell."

The bullet had hurt like a _bitch._ It always did.

He was dead now. Another empty name, a collection of lines and pixels in the computer, a blip on a machine. He knew this. Maybe he was dreaming awake now, a ghostly consciousness flitting across the ether. He had killed himself so many times over, and it didn't really give him pause anymore. It was just another way to wake up, another kick. It helped him move through the levels, and death was simply another level of consciousness, wasn't it?

***

There was a knocking on the door, and Arthur finally got up. One more test.

Ariadne was standing on the other side, palm outstretched. His die was there, as was her bishop. "You forgot these," she said softly.

Arthur closed his hand over hers, feeling the totems pressed between their palms. "I missed you," he whispered.

She gave him a shy smile. "I missed you, too. I told you I'd follow you everywhere."

Arthur pulled her into his arms, totems forgotten. "Let's go home, Ariadne."

The End


End file.
